


Season Unending

by Taelr



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Betrayal, But can't we all agree, F/M, I know we don't all like Ulfric, Idiots in Love, Listen up, Mutual Pining, so on and so forth - Freeform, the man has a killer voice, you can't tell me ulfric and the dragonborn don't care about each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23419363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taelr/pseuds/Taelr
Summary: A brief one-shot sort of piece about love and perceived betrayal and a lot of other things.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ulfric Stormcloak
Comments: 1
Kudos: 67





	Season Unending

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this sometime in the past two years and finally finished it/sort of tied up some loose ends, tried to fix the rough edges. This will be the only chapter for this story as the rest is left to imagination. Hope you enjoy! :)

“My jarl, are you certain you wouldn’t prefer to have someone else do that for you?”

“Letter writing is not beneath me, Galmar.”

“Of course. Might I ask why you insist on writing these yourself? Always before you have dictated them to a scribe.” Galmar shifted where he stood, uncharacteristically unsure.

“That is not important.” His voice was always deep, but Ulfric knew it was too husky this evening, tinged by an emotion that even an old, war-hardened Nord as thick as Galmar would pick up on. Though he clearly didn’t understand what it meant. He finished what he was writing, folded the note and sealed it with his ring, staring at the hardening wax and the seal, the sigil bearing his own symbol, for a few seconds too long before looking up at Galmar. Then he rose swiftly and left the room, stopping the first courier he saw meandering through his court. “Get this to her.”

The courier noted the name on the folded paper and then looked back up at Ulfric, fidgeting. “My jarl,” he said haltingly, “We have not seen nor received word from the dragonborn in months. No one knows where-”

“Then find her!” Ulfric bellowed, silence following his outburst. Anyone within a league had surely heard him. He continued, more subdued now. “She has property throughout the holds, housecarls maintaining each of them. They must have an inkling of her whereabouts.” He met the courier’s eyes, noting the anxiety he found there. “Find her,” he said firmly.

~ ~ ~

“My thane.” She looked up from her work at the alchemy station, the half-smile of greeting gone from her lips when she saw the parchment in Iona’s hand. “Another letter from Jarl Ulfric.”

“Of course,” she said, feigning a smile though she knew Iona saw right through it. “Please put it with the others.” She went back to her work, looking up again when Iona still stood there after some time.

“Forgive me, my thane,” Iona said slowly, “but perhaps . . . Is it possible that Jarl Ulfric has pressing matters that he must discuss with you? This makes a dozen, delivered to your properties throughout the holds by desperate couriers with worried faces.”

“I am uninterested in what the jarl has to say to me,” she said dismissively, but smiled small at the end to reassure Iona that her frustration was not with her housecarl. “I have done my part and delivered the remaining holds to him. After the moot, Ulfric will reign as high king of Skyrim and have exactly what he wanted. I stood by his side and did his bidding. He has had all that he will of me.” The last part was more bitter, more final sounding than she had intended. She refocused on Iona and found the young woman nodding, clearly perturbed.

“Of course, my thane . . . I’ll put it with the others.”

After that her focus was gone from her, and she deserted her work at the alchemy station with a sigh. He was far away in Windhelm making plans for his rule, and yet he still managed to interrupt her when she was busy, demanding her attention. She slammed her fists against the table beside her, thinking of the look on her face the last time they had spoken. Well, she had spoken. He had simply stared at her, mouth closed, face tired and drawn, eyes dark and quiet. He was devoid of the emotion she had wanted from him, needed, even. And so she had gone from him. She had been to all of her properties since, visited her housecarls and her adoptive children, continued the tasks and quests given to her by people in need from the many holds. But she had not been back to Hjerim since last she had spoken to Ulfric. Her housecarl there received word from her occasionally, and coin. But that was it.

She thought to leave Honeyside and go to the marketplace, the center hub of town, or perhaps even down to the Cistern to see if Vex or Delvin had anything for her. But then she thought of the whispers that accompanied her in every town she was seen in. “The dragonborn.” That one had been with her for nearly two years now, and she was at least accustomed to it. Her association with Ulfric and the Stormcloaks was another topic of interest, but generally not mentioned too much since the Stormcloaks had taken over unless she went to visit the jarls who had been replaced when Ulfric’s people took control. Other than that, it depended solely on the specific town she was in. Sometimes she was known for quests or kindness, sometimes for the various guilds she was known to pledge fealty to, sometimes simply because she owned a home there. But always there was one more thing since Ulfric’s speech in Solitude, the one after they had stormed the city. Even now she saw it in her mind’s eye.

“I will not claim for myself the title of high king of Skyrim until the king’s moot has met and named me such. But when they do, I would take a wife to be my queen.” He had spoken to the stormcloaks and Elisif and other surrounding people for the rest of his speech, but the last sentence he said while looking directly at _her_. He never spoke her name or insinuated any other way, but the message was clear to everyone present, and word spread like wildfire across Skyrim and her holds. The dragonborn, who had led his people, fought his battles, and stood beside him at his final victory and subsequent speech, was his intended. He had, of course, not spoken to her of this before announcing his intentions in such a manner, and she was as surprised as everyone else. There was something between them, naturally, something that had been budding and growing steadily since the day she presented herself in his court with more word on the dragons and a request to join his cause. But the _audacity_ …

She shook her head to clear her mind, distantly aware of Iona calling to her from upstairs. “My thane, what was that noise? Is everything all right?”

“I’m fine, Iona,” she said, loudly enough to be heard but gently enough to be easily construed as calm. “I dropped some ingredients.”

She returned to her thoughts. Now, now everyone in the cities knew of Ulfric’s intent, even in the farthest reaches of Skyrim and the smallest settlements. “Ulfric Stormcloak means to marry the dragonborn,” they would say. “Two people so equally powerful are rarely more suited for one another.” “Stormcloak and Stormblade, how fitting.” But those were previous whispers. Now the whispers were more urgent, confused. “I’ve heard tell the dragonborn hasn’t stepped foot in Windhelm in nigh on seven months now. Ulfric travels with matters of becoming high king, but something isn’t right.” And the more stinging, “They say the last time she was there she visited him in the dead of night and then left without a word to anyone else. Ulfric has been different since and no one knows what was said or done.” Just the day before, a guard who hadn’t seen her coming had turned to his companion and said, “Do you think she misses him? She was his left hand and Galmar his right, always reporting to him and doing his work. And now she doesn’t speak to him?”

But better had been the second guard’s response. “Ulfric is a strange man, and a hard one. He was taken and trained by the Greybeards before all this, remember. Does he even have the capacity to miss someone in such a way? To love?”

But did it even really matter? The guards had always had their gossip, the townsfolk their rumors. The jarls respected her, the people still asked her for favors and paid her to complete tasks and quests, and her properties were doing fine. The children she had adopted were flourishing, her housecarls were doing well for themselves and her various homes, and she herself was as healthy as ever before. Physically, anyways. Since the day she had left Windhelm something inside of her felt as though it was deteriorating slowly, falling away and getting weaker, but she had not yet discovered the exact source or a way to stop it. It was an ugly, creeping feeling, and some of the things that used to bring her such joy simply didn’t anymore.

~ ~ ~

She took a breath, steadying her bow and loosing an arrow. It whizzed by Etienne’s ear, missing by the width of a finger, and plunged into the eye of the frost troll. Etienne let out a startled laugh when the thing toppled backwards, and then sprinted for the light on the other side of the cave. She didn’t take offense to his fleeing, understanding what a relief it must be to be free from the Thalmor and now from the troll. She hoped he would make it back to Riften safely, but didn’t doubt his prowess in the slightest. He could thank her later. She moved beyond the troll, interested in the meager pile of treasure it had collected but wincing at the heavy stench of death and manure. She pocketed a few items and some gold and then headed for the cave entrance herself, ready to be on her way back to Delphine. She had recovered some interesting looking books on her foray through the Thalmor’s offices, but hadn’t exactly felt at liberty to pull them out and read through them while still on the property. Even now, in a troll’s den with a dead troll and nowhere to go, she didn’t feel she had the time. Perhaps she would mention them to Delphine in case they were pertinent and then read them later. She shivered as she left the cave, pulling her fur cape closer around her shoulders as she began the trek back to Solitude, glad to be out of her ridiculous party clothes and back in her armor.

~ ~ ~

Delphine only had an interest in the Thalmor’s entry on Esbern, but seemed amused by the one on herself. She didn’t even give the one titled, “Ulfric Stormcloak,” more than a glance, glad to give the other two back once she had read them through. So the dragonborn left her there, on a mission to find Esbern but needing some time to herself first. She stayed the night at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, pulling out Ulfric’s entry by candlelight before she slept. What she read there shook everything she’d ever thought she knew about the man and made her question her allegiance to the Stormcloaks in the first place. Of course, Ulfric was one of those men who may mean well sometimes, but often the things he said and did were power plays, moves for his own benefit or that of his agenda. She knew this, had always known this. But to be in the Thalmor’s pocket? It said he was dormant, even uncooperative, but still . . . She had intended on returning to Riften, but chose to ride for Windhelm instead. For answers.

Upon arriving, she found the city dark and quiet. Of course, her journey had been long and she had refused to stop for longer than a few hours at a time, determined to arrive as soon as she could. This meant she came into Windhelm in the dead of night, but she passed by Candlehearth Hall without hesitation, walking directly into the Palace of the Kings. The guards greeted her, somewhat surprised; she showed her face here often and sometimes at unusual times, but when she marched directly back to Ulfric’s quarters she was given some strange looks. Of course no one stepped up to stop her, as it was well known that she was Ulfric’s best informant and agent, and his most trusted, second only to Galmar Stone Fist. She found him in bed, clearly sleeping easily, alone, and she closed the door softly behind her. He shifted at her footsteps, leaning up on an elbow to see who she was, and automatically reaching for the dagger on the table beside him.

“No need,” she said shortly, and she watched him visibly relax at the sound of her voice. He pushed the dagger back to its original place, clearly comfortable, and then tilted his head to look up at her. There were no lit candles in the room, and the moonlight filtered in through the window, pure and bright enough for her to easily see him even after coming from the bright main halls of his court. He blinked at her, clearly wishing to know why she had disturbed his sleep but not yet willing to condemn her for it. She had never come at times such as this without good reason before, never given him reason to doubt her.

“I ran with your men and women into battles that you needed fought and won,” she began, her voice hoarse from the long ride, but still strong and firm. There was a heavy, underlying hint of rage beneath it, though to tired Ulfric it may seem like fatigue, she couldn’t be sure. He said nothing, watching her with dark eyes and an expression that betrayed nothing of what he was feeling. “I took entire forts by myself, released captive Stormcloaks, and came to you with every scrap of information I ever got my hands on,” she continued. She was speaking more quickly now, more forcefully, but certainly not yelling. To shout now would be to raise the attention of the guards, and this was a conversation she wanted to have privately.

“I always knew you had your own intentions and reasons for fighting this war, but this …" She shook her head, pulling the red, leatherbound book from her pack. “I suppose the signs were all there, but I was blinded by my devotion, as are all of your supporters. Your Stormcloaks, men and women who have _died_ for you and your cause-” she took a sharp breath, reminding herself to lower her voice. “They believe in you and your purpose here. They would be devastated to learn the truth.” It was clearly just a statement and not a threat; she had just helped Ulfric and his people win the whole of Skyrim, at least for the initial piece of the grander scheme of war. She had no delusions of spoiling that and taking something so monumental from the Nords she had fought beside. But it needed saying, and she was here to say it.

“It’s strange how things are revealed to us, sometimes in the most unexpected times and unusual places.” She held the book up, noted the lack of reaction on his part but saw the tiniest hint of recognition pass over his eyes for an instant when he could see it as clearly as the moonlight would allow. “I have stood beside you for nigh on two years,” she said, and now her voice did break, but she did not cry. She recovered herself and continued, “But no more. I have aided you with everything that I had until this point, and it has done much for you and your agenda. I have given enough and learned all that I need to now.” She set the book down, hard, on the table beside his dagger. It made a noise that would surely be soft from the other side of the door where the guards stood, but was starkly contrasting to the quiet atmosphere of the dark room on the side she stood on. Ulfric did not jump, but something in his face changed, though it remained a mask. His dark eyes never left her, and she stared down at the book for an instant before straightening and looking at him again. “I take my leave now,” she said quietly. And she did.

No tears fell then. She went quickly to Hjerim and woke her housecarl gently. “Ulfric and I have had a disagreement and I do not suspect violence, but I do not know what will come of it,” she explained patiently. “I will not uproot the household here or the children. But if he should choose to seize the property or strip me of the title of thane,” she paused, glancing about the small room belonging to her housecarl and wincing internally about what would be lost, “then you will send word to the other properties at once to let me know. There is always room in my home in Markarth for more. You will go there if you must. If no word comes and he doesn’t make any rash decisions, remain here. The children need not know anything is amiss unless you must move them. I will leave gifts for them near the hearth and return to visit them as usual so long as nothing changes. If you must leave I will try to be here to escort you.”

Calder had stared at her, clearly startled by this news, but he simply nodded. “It will be done, my thane,” he said haltingly.

He was of course very physically capable, but she felt the need to reassure him that his status in the city was not at risk. “You are in no danger, nor is your title or reputation,” she said firmly. “There are no hard feelings between the jarl and I, only an understanding. Circumstances are less than ideal but still safe and amicable.”

Calder nodded again, clearly fully awake with the news she brought. “I will be sure the children receive your gifts,” he said, returning to his usual, quiet but responsible self.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him. “This is for you, as well.” He had long ago mentioned a book lost to him that his dead sister had enjoyed, a book he would someday love to have for his own daughter. It was an unusual glimpse into the softer side of such a rough man, but she had searched far and wide and asked many about its possible whereabouts. And only this last month she had found it. She pressed it into his hands, seeing his eyes moisten slightly when he looked down at the worn cover. “It is well used, but still functional,” she promised, leaving him with the book and his memories.

She left edible treats on the mantle and two daggers near the hearth, knowing the Calder would teach her adoptive children to use them responsibly. She had promised them that wooden swords were a thing of the past and they could graduate to training with real weapons, and where better to start than with iron? She would give them nicer weapons once they were more proficient, of course. She also left a short, handwritten note, and gave an entire head of cabbage to Sofie’s rabbit before she returned to the road. She was surprised to find no guards waiting to escort her back to the Palace of Kings for a proper talk with Ulfric, but relieved all the same. It was then she made for Riften, tired but not wanting to linger in a city with which she had just so drastically cut ties. The people wouldn’t know, of course, but there was no telling how Ulfric might respond. She had never seen him so silent before, and was unsure of whether he was angry, tired, or had simply expected this as an eventuality all along. If it was the last, she would hate him for it. They had never shared a kiss, of course, barely even touched. But there was something that had been there all along, and after he announced his intentions so blatantly and subtly at once . . .

She returned to her duties as the dragonborn, helping the blades and learning more from the Greybeards all at once. There was much more to be done besides that as well, and Nirn would hardly stop turning for her own emotions and broken heart. But try as she might to focus on her other duties, and as often as she forgot about Ulfric and was busy with her own, random people and things would remind her at the most inopportune moments and memories would come flooding back.

~ ~ ~

Stupid, stupid, stupid. She knew how to use wards, had an entire goddamn shield, but of course she hadn’t managed to keep the stuff out of her eyes. She sat in the back of the carriage, shivering and clutching at her dagger in one hand, a tiny ball of fire dancing in the other hand, waiting for anything that signaled a fight. She would normally have walked or ridden her own horse for the journey, but seeing as she was now incapable . . . Ha! Seeing. She snorted to herself, and then heard the seat at the front of the carriage creak as the driver turned to look at her. “What’s funny?” He asked. She kept her head down, wary of anyone who could recognize her and spread the word. _“The dragonborn is blind.”_ That was all Skyrim needed to hear in these desperate times. “Thinking of recent events, that’s all,” she replied, in a tone of voice that was friendly but firm. No more questions, it said. He understood and turned around again, not bothering her until they made it to Windhelm. Once there she made her way to the door by memory, stumbling only once on her way through the crumbling streets to the Palace of Kings.

She walked in and prayed that no furniture had been moved and the guards maintained their regular posts, listening carefully to be aware of other bodies around her so that she could avoid bumping into them. She did well until she found the throne empty, and so she took a left turn into the small meeting room designated for strategy, a favorite place of Ulfric and Galmar’s. She walked in slowly, listening. Galmar was speaking loudly in the far corner, so loudly that she wasn’t sure whether Ulfric was in the room with him or not. If he was, he would be standing by the map, she reasoned, so she took a sharp left so to be out of the way … And walked directly into a large, solid, fur-clad something she could only assume was Ulfric. She cried out in surprise, stumbling back into a kneeling position and bowing her head. “I’m sorry,” she began, but her apologies and begs for pardon were drowned out by the shocked gasps and sharp rebuffs spewing from a remarkably disgruntled Galmar. Ulfric said nothing until Galmar had run out of things to say, and then she felt her hood being pushed back off of her head. She lifted her face slowly, keeping her stinging eyes closed, knowing they would be useless even if she opened them. “My jarl,” she began, but she was cut off by his sharp intake of breath, presumably when he saw her face. She had touched her face, could feel that her eyes were swollen, that the entire upper part of her face was sore and puffy. She could only imagine how she looked.

“Galmar, leave us. Find Wuunferth. Go with him to the apothecary. Get anything for the eyes. Return only when Wuunferth is confident he can do something. Go now.” Galmar spluttered something incoherent about the dragonborn being useless blind and all but ran from the room.

She flinched when a cool hand touched her face, a thumb gently brushing the swollen, angry place beneath her eye that used to be dark and lay flat against the bone, but was now large and bruised feeling. “I apologize, my jarl,” she started again, sure that he must be upset with her. At least it was only Galmar she had embarrassed herself in front of. It could have been so much worse, could have been more embarrassing to Ulfric himself. “I can’t see, my lord. I-”

“Who did this?” His voice was always deep, but now it was even deeper than usual, anger thick in his words.

She was unsure if it was directed at her. “A hagraven,” she said calmly. “Now very dead, so I fear you can’t ask her how to reverse it.” She shivered, aware that his hand was still on her. He had stopped touching her sore face, though, and simply let his palm rest softly against her cheek. Now he moved it, and she flinched again, more because she couldn’t track the movement with her eyes than from any pain, but also because of the sudden lack of contact.

“Can you open them?” he asked next, clearly past the point of listening to her apologies and seemingly unconcerned with her fumbling into him.

“I …" She tried, unable to properly blink back the tears that welled up at the movement, but doing her best. She wasn’t actually sure of how far they opened or if they opened at all because of the stinging pain and the swelling. Everything about her eyes felt foreign and wrong and she couldn’t see a damn thing. “I can’t see,” she said softly, fear laced through her voice for the first time since it had happened. “Ulfric, I can’t see.” Unbidden, she found herself reaching out for something to hold onto, someone … Her hand found his coat and she clasped it desperately. She didn’t mean to desert formalities, but the _helplessness_ …

He set a steadying hand on her shoulder and she felt his breath on her face, aware that he had leaned in close to see her eyes better.

“What do you see?” She asked, terrified of his answer.

“They are black, bloodshot, and probably best closed until Wuunferth comes,” he said quietly.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, suddenly fearing that she had done wrong in coming here first. “The coven you needed gone is dead,” she said quickly, “The cave is cleared.” Perhaps he would perceive this as great weakness and decide he could do without his dragonborn. “If Wuunferth cannot fix it, I’ll compensate with my other senses,” she reasoned out loud, her words too fast, so unsure but also so determined. “I’ll learn from the Greybeards if they have anything to teach me. I’ll-”

“Enough,” he said, quietly but with enough force to shut her up. “By the nine, I will find a way to fix this if I have to go and hunt it down myself.”

She wondered if her swollen face was red and blotchy enough to hide the heat that rose in her cheeks at his words. “Surely there are more pressing matters for a jarl who is fighting for his land to attend to,” she started, but again, he wouldn’t hear whatever else she had to say.

“You’ll have your eyes back,” he said fiercely, and she chose not to press it further. “If I have to make a deal with the high elves to achieve it then I damn well will.”

She was surprised by this, by the stubborn way in which he said it. “The dragonborn is quite an asset,” she surmised, barking a short laugh to herself.

“More than an asset,” was all Ulfric said. His hand moved down her arm, and he took her wrist firmly. She hesitantly released her hold on his clothing and let her fingers relax. “Come, you should sit. No need to kneel on the floor like the common rabble.” He led her slowly to a bench and let her sit, where she leaned back against the wall and kept her eyes closed.

“Thank you,” she said softly, crinkling her eyes shut further as more painful tears fell. She could sense movement, and was aware that Ulfric knelt in front of her now. He placed a hand on her knee and left it there, unmoving. “What do you need? Water? Food? I’ll have someone bring it at once.”

“No,” she said hoarsely, sounding as pained as she was and relieved to not be biting it back any longer, as shameful as it was in front of Ulfric himself. “Don’t leave me here alone. Please … My jarl.”

“I will not leave your side until we have sorted this out,” he promised, and it sounded oddly binding. “But I could easily have someone fetch-”

“I want only for my sight back,” she said. Stretching further into humor than she had ever gone before in his presence, she added, “That I might look upon your harrowing face once more.” Perhaps she was famished, to have dared something like that, but she didn’t care. No food and hardly a sip from her now-empty waterskin was her last two days of travel.

He chuckled, and she was relieved. “I should want the same,” he agreed. After a pause, he said, “Your eyes are wrong like this, Stormblade. They should be green, not black.”

Her eyes were already closed, but she blinked as much as she could, surprised by this. He knew what color her eyes were? Surely it was beyond a busy jarl who sought to win over and rule his country to notice the color of her eyes. But apparently, it was not. “With luck, they’ll be green again yet,” she said. That same cloying feeling of fear came upon her again, fear that without her sight, she wouldn’t be able to serve Ulfric and he would leave her behind. “But without my sight, I could still be of use to you,” she said, hastily.

“Without your sight, you would become an advisor. You could still see battle, but only at the side of someone such as Galmar or myself. Your Voice is stronger than your sight, but you would need good eyes to guide you.” There was silence that spanned a few moments, just them breathing. “You would not simply become as another wounded,” he said firmly. “I would find a use for you yet.”

She nodded, relieved and exhausted, and leaned her head back once more. They settled into a silence that was not uncomfortable, and before long footsteps echoed down the hall. Ulfric took his hand from her knee and rose, stepping away from her. She wondered if it was because he didn’t want to be seen kneeling over some poor wounded soldier of his or her particularly, or if there would be some assumptions made by incoming parties if they were to see him sitting there with his hand on her knee. Could the great Ulfric Stormcloak possess true emotional capacity, enough to care about what happened to someone he was at least formally close to?

She didn’t have time to ponder, as Galmar came in with Wuunferth in tow. Wuunferth made a strange noise when he saw her, immediately demanding that she open her eyes and attempt to look around. He left the room to make a poultice and returned shortly, explaining that he would smear it the mixture on the inside of a cloth and then tie the cloth around her head, effectively blindfolding her so that it would rest against her eyes. “Once the swelling has gone down, we’ll pour this into your eyes themselves,” he said. He was holding something up, she was sure, but she obviously couldn’t know what it was. She settled for trusting his expertise and kept silent, agreeing and nodding when necessary and otherwise reflecting on the events of the past few days. “I wish you’d come to me sooner,” he said at one point, and she laughed at him. “My apologies,” she said, smiling small. “Had there been a dragon for me to ride here from Ivarstead, I would have happily done so.”

This seemed to catch him off guard, but she thought she heard the faintest chuckle from Ulfric’s direction. “How long?” he asked soon enough though, back to business.

“We should leave the mixture on her face for at least an hour, I should think. Pouring this into her eyes after that should be almost instantaneous.”

“And if not? If it doesn’t work?” Galmar’s words were not malicious, but they stung her. They seemed to bother Ulfric more, though.

“It will work,” the jarl said firmly. “If it doesn’t, we will find something else.” Galmar excused himself and Wuunferth said that he would return when it was time to remove the bandage before leaving, as well. There was a span of silence, and she wondered briefly if she hadn’t heard Ulfric’s footsteps and he had left her here alone. The thought was terrifying. “M-my jarl?” she asked haltingly, chewing her lip absently and waiting nervously for an answer.

“My dragonborn,” came the response almost immediately, and she couldn’t suppress her sigh of relief. “Perhaps now you would accept some food and drink? Your skin is pale and your heart slow.”

She wondered if he knew this because he had felt her pulse when he took her wrist, but nodded. “I would have bread, that I might feed myself without making a mess of things,” she requested.

“Some bread,” he agreed. She opened her mouth to protest but then shut it again, aware of the finality in his tone when he said, “But stew, too. You can’t spill it if you aren’t the one bringing it to your mouth.” There was a pause again, and he asked, “What would you prefer? Lamb? Salmon? Vegetable?”

“Apple cabbage,” she requested tentatively, features automatically scrunching up when she heard receding footsteps and understood he was leaving her. To make such faces caused her great pain and she made a soft noise before she could stop herself, but then she realized that Ulfric had not left the room, simply gone to the door. He called for Jorlief and requested the food and drink, and then returned swiftly to her side. He knelt in front of her as he had earlier, placing a hand on her knee again. “You will have it,” he promised.

She smiled small, though crinkling her cheeks hurt some. “Thank you, my j-” He stopped her halfway into the formal address.

“ _Ulfric_ is fine,” he said quietly. “Gods know we have been through enough.”

~ ~ ~

She entered the Palace of Kings curiously, entirely unfamiliar with the city of Windhelm and the large place that served as its center. There were scrutinizing looks from the guards around her, and the members of Ulfric’s court. She approached the throne and stopped at an appropriate distance, waiting respectfully as Ulfric and another, older man conversed.

“Balgruuf won’t give us a straight answer,” the older man said gruffly.

The man on the throne responded, and she was surprised by just how deep his voice was. “He’s a true Nord. He’ll come around.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” the older man responded, but then Ulfric noticed her standing there.

Galmar continued to speak in the background, but she was distracted by what the jarl was saying to her.

“Only the foolish or the courageous approach a jarl without summons,” he said, addressing her. “Do I know you?”

“I was at Helgen,” she said calmly, wondering if perhaps he had so easily forgotten the horse thief and the random young woman who had been sentenced to death because of him and his Stormcloaks.

“Ah,” was all he said. Then, “Yes. Destined for the chopping block, if I’m not mistaken.”

She bit back a smart retort about the role he had played in that destiny, but managed to hold the words back. She chose her words carefully, aware that she had come here for a purpose, knowing that he was aware of this, too. If he wasn’t, he would be. “I was set free. I could have gone anywhere. I came here to fight the Empire.”

He studied her for a few moments, eyeing her up and down. She didn’t feel objectified sexually, but he was obviously sizing her up as a soldier. “A fair point. Well, you’ve come to the right place, then,” he said at length. “Speak with Galmar. I’m always looking for able fighters. Not everyone can say they made it out of Helgen. It seems we’re all branded villains these days. So long as your criminal past stays in the past, and you fight for me with honor and integrity, we’ll welcome you into our ranks.”

His voice was something else. She turned and found the older Nord regarding her. “Galmar,” she said expectantly, and he nodded, clearly needing convincing that she was worth anything even if she was a Nord herself.

~ ~ ~

A single tear slipped out before she realized how lost she’d become in her own memories, and she wiped it away hastily, smearing it across her left cheek. Both of her eyes had welled up with them, but no other tears fell just yet. She blinked, trying to dispel them, and only half succeeded. He had carefully spooned stew into her mouth when she was afraid to do it herself, and gently taken the bandage from her eyes himself when Wuunferth arrived to remove it. A thousand other conversations and small moments flashed through her mind, blazing before her closed eyes like the imprints of a torch after someone had looked at it in the dark. She willed them away desperately, but the vaguest outline and memory of them remained when she opened her eyes. “Damn you,” she whispered. But it was her fault. Suppose he had always assumed it would end this way, suppose he hadn’t. She had played right into it either way, devoted and loyal in ways she hadn’t ever been previously in her life.

She recalled first seeing him, in the carriage on their way into Helgen. She had been knocked unconscious during the raid and only just woke before reaching Helgen. The horse thief had sounded panicky, the stormcloaks subdued. Ulfric himself was bound and gagged, in what she could only assume was the Imperials’ attempt at stopping him from using his Thu’um. He had looked at her only briefly when she turned to him, and then they had both gone back to staring off at their surroundings. Her only thoughts were that she had heard of him, of the rebellion, of course she had. Her Nord heritage would be insulted if she hadn’t. She’d never intended to join either side, but then when she discovered she was the dragonborn and the dragons had returned … Wielding such power, she hardly had a choice. It was her duty to aid in the war.

She remembered the warm, wet wood that coated the side of her neck and her cheek when she knelt and rested against the chopping block. It was thick with the lifeblood of the stormcloak soldier who had gone before her, and she glanced back past her shoulder, her eyes briefly meeting with Ulfric Stormcloak’s. She would die today because she had been caught up in a raid that involved him, and she was guilty by association. She wished she had told him her name, that it might burn in his mind for his final moments. Her death was on his shoulders. But the dragon …

She shook her head again, clearing her thoughts. How often this happened. How damn unfortunately, infuriatingly often.

~ ~ ~

“Well?” Ulfric did not mince words, asking as soon as the courier returned. “It was delivered to her property in the Reach, as directed, my jarl.”

“To her or a housecarl?” the impatient jarl asked.

“Her housecarl, my lord. I was told it would be sent to her present location with great haste.”

“Which was?”

The courier looked down, shuffling his feet. “The housecarl would not say. Only that it would be delivered.”

Ulfric slammed his fist down on the arm of his throne. “You did as you were asked,” he said firmly, waving Jorlief over. “And you will be rewarded for your journey. That you have no better tidings is not your fault.”

The young man gulped but turned gladly away from the jarl, eager to leave the brooding man’s presence.

Galmar approached, having witnessed the entire interaction. “Ulfric,” he said, and the informality was enough to snap the jarl from his thoughts and catch his attention. “Clearly, all is not as it should be. The people wonder-”

“Let them wonder, Galmar,” Ulfric said sharply.

“As they do,” Galmar said, nodding. “Perhaps then, put _my_ wonderings to rest.”

Ulfric took a deep breath and looked again at his old friend. “I’m sorry, Galmar. What is it you wonder?”

“There was never official word sent,” the old Nord said, coughing uncomfortably, “but it became widely accepted that when you became high kind of Skyrim, the dragonborn was to join you as queen.”

Ulfric bit back the immediate, angry response, and bowed his head. “So it did,” he agreed.

Galmor was clearly not comfortable continuing, but he squared his shoulders and looked Ulfric in the face nonetheless. “What happened?” he asked quietly. “One day everything was normal, and the next …" he trailed off, thinking back. The dragonborn had shown her face late in the night and gone straight to Ulfric’s personal quarters. Of course, this wasn’t unheard of, as she’d brought pressing matters to the jarl before. But she came and left without a word to anyone else, and the following day, Ulfric had been . . . different. Prone to a vile temper, louder than usual, and somehow more shut down and silent all at once. It was like Galmar hadn’t seen a single glimpse of the jarl’s true self since it had happened.

“The dragonborn excused herself from my service,” was all Ulfric said. His face was blank, his eyes dark. He looked gaunt and pale, more so than he had in months.

~ ~ ~

Iona opened the door as she always would when someone knocked. “My thane,” she called out over her shoulder as she opened the door, “someone calls.” She looked up and made a face, confused. “Do you have business with the thane?” she asked. The tall stranger in front of her leaned his head back and reached up to push the hood of his cloak back only enough to briefly show her his face. She froze, surprise cleanly etched across her features, unusually delicate as they were for a Nord. “Jarl Ulfric,” she whispered, “what an honor. And a surprise.” She looked around frantically, unsure of what to do. “My thane,” she called, much more loudly this time. Her voice was laced with anxiety. She glanced back at Ulfric Stormcloak, who stood expectantly in front of her but had clearly taken pains to avoid being widely recognized, so she dared not call his name. “S-someone rather important is here to speak with you.”

“May I enter?” Ulfric asked.

Iona fidgeted where she stood, uncomfortable denying the future high king of Skyrim anything, but devoted so wholly to the service of her thane that she hesitated to do something that might bother her, regardless of whether it would incur Ulfric’s wrath. She was relieved and worried equally when she heard footsteps approach and then abruptly stop.

“Iona, who calls?” the dragonborn had started, but then stopped short.

“I’m sorry, my thane,” Iona said, turning to face the one to whom she owed fealty even before Ulfric himself. “I didn’t know what to do-”

“There is nothing to apologize for,” the dragonborn said calmly, lifting a hand to silence her housecarl. She looked over Iona’s shoulder, her facial expression oddly emotionless. Her voice had also gone uncharacteristically flat. “Give the jarl his letters and explain to him that I will be speaking to no one at this time.” She turned away abruptly and strode towards the back door, stopping next to the basket of papers hanging from a rafter. She took the basket down, retrieved the letters and stacked all twelve of them neatly, and then turned to hand them to Iona, who had approached to take them as she’d been told. The dragonborn then made for the door as she heard Iona awkwardly stumble through the return of all of Ulfric’s unopened letters. She needed fresh air desperately, and gladly stood on the deck behind Honeyside, just breathing in the wind that came off the lake for a moment. She heard the front door close and then there were swift, purposeful footsteps coming around the house.

_To oblivion with that man._

Panicking and very unwilling to face the very man she had so desperately been missing for the past months, she rushed down the stairs and then along the shore, praying that she might make it into the trees before he saw which way she had gone. She did not slow when she made it into the safety of the brush, however, staying away from the road and seeking respite deeper in the woods. She thought she heard distant footsteps and rushed faster, crying out softly in surprise when she heard his Voice. “ _Wuld Nah Kest_!” he shouted, and the hair on her neck prickled as she heard the whoosh of air, he was moving so quickly towards her. Before she could think to dodge or shout her own escape strong arms wrapped around her with far too much force behind them, and they both fell to the grass. Still he held her, though, and she had hardly struggled to her knees before he was leaning close. She pursed her lips, terrified of what she might do if he were to come closer or press his mouth to hers. But he paused after leaning in, not to kiss but to speak, his eyes even with hers. It was too much. She ducked from his grasp, closing her eyes as she shouted.

“ _Fus Ro Dah_!”

He flew backward, turning over time and again in the air, and landed hard at the base of a large birch tree. It pained her perhaps even more than she had hurt him, but she turned away and ran again, tears now streaming down her cheeks. She could not stand and reason with him. She missed him too terribly. She would give in, would make a mistake, would let him apologize and explain his way out of it. And she couldn’t do that. She knew the truth and she had to remember that.

“Gods damn you, woman!” she heard him yell, and she ran harder.

She couldn’t see a damn thing, veering around trees and boulders and other vague shapes as they arrived in her line of vision. But his ability to use his Voice returned sooner than hers did, and he again used Whirlwind Sprint to catch up to her. This time she was faster, though, and he simply stood across a small clearing from her when his shout was finished. She took a breath, preparing to send him away from her once again, but a bear’s complaints roared loud to her left and the massive creature came barreling out of the trees and straight for Ulfric. He drew his weapon and widened his stance, clearly prepared to fight the animal because his voice would not allow him to subdue it.

“ _Kaan Drem Ov_!” She didn’t have to think before using it, knowing immediately that she would shout to save him rather than to send him away when presented with her options. The bear stopped its charge and ambled off the way it had come, and Ulfric slowly sheathed his weapon, staring at her. She had lost her opportunity to escape him with her Voice. “The bear will only be subdued for so long,” she pointed out, turning to walk from the clearing. She did not run, understanding that the same cycle that had begun would just keep repeating itself if she continued to flee. “I don’t wish to discuss with you.”

“Clearly.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but when she looked closely at him, he looked terrible. Haggard and gaunt did not begin to properly describe it.

“Are you all right?” she asked, actually falling back a step so that she could get a closer look at his face.

He laughed now, but it was hard and humorless. “Not in the slightest.”

She was surprised by his honesty, leaning away from him. His hood had flown back in the chase, and she saw how bad he truly looked. “By the nine,” she breathed, stopping entirely to reach up and _almost_ touch his face. Her brows drew together and she leaned away from him again. “Being high king looks to suit you less than expected.”

He reached up and took her extended hand in his own, lowering it to take it in both of his hands. “I am not yet the high king,” he pointed out. “The moot meets this very day.”

Her frown intensified. “And yet here you stand, in the Rift? Should you not be in Windhelm or Solitude?”

He smiled, but it was a sad expression. “There was a time when I intended to take a queen the very same day that I was crowned high king.”

She pulled her hand from his grip, and he let her go, though she could see that he didn’t want to. “We are not yet far enough from the bear,” she choked out, and turned to walk away. She heard his footsteps behind her and then beside her, for his stride was longer than her own. “There was a time when I intended to stand with you on that day, regardless of who you took as your queen,” she said in response, though the words took several moments before they tumbled from her lips. She could not look at him, instead focusing on the forest around them.

He was silent for a time, and when she felt that it was safe to, they stopped walking. He reached into his cloak and produced the unopened letters, some having sat for so long that the wax seal on them was cracked and peeling. “I had thought perhaps you burned them,” he said quietly, staring down at them.

She looked at the parchment in his hands and then up to his face. “I tried,” she admitted. “Not reading them was easier.”

Now he stared at her, so many questions in his face. For the first time in a long time, he seemed more emotive than she ever remembered seeing him. “Why keep them if you won’t read them?” he asked bluntly.

“I didn’t choose not to,” she said calmly. “I couldn’t.”

He arched an eyebrow, waiting for a full explanation.

“Just as I couldn’t face you today. I couldn’t let myself fall into you again, for you and your words. Your damned voice and your words will not sway me, not again.”

He seemed confused and surprised. “What’s wrong with my voice?” he asked.

She shook her head, looking up at him and clenching her jaw before she answered. “Nothing,” she said honestly, nodding a bit. “Absolutely gods damned nothing.”

He was silent for a moment pondering. Then it seemed to occur to him just how rare and precious this time she was giving him was. “I would read them to you,” he said finally. His voice actually cracked at the word _read_ , which made her look up at him sharply. Ulfric Stormcloak did not have a voice that often cracked.

“Do what you will,” she said dismissively, turning away but not leaving.

And he did. One at a time, he opened his own letters and unfolded them with ginger fingers, clearing his throat before beginning each one. He knew which ones had been sent most recently, and easily sorted through them, casually dropping them onto the leaf-strewn ground at his feet and taking a step towards her after each one. They were very small steps, but he slowly made his way to her side as he read. The letters were short and formal at first, and longer and more desperate at the end. It was like she could feel the pride being leeched from him with every letter he read, until his emotions were laid bare in the last.

_~ ~ ~_

_“Ulfric.”_

The word fell from her lips along with droplets of blood from her split lip. They had known. The enemy, whoever they were, had ambushed them here. But the battle was already won, and the Jarls knew that there was no choice but to crown Ulfric high king during the upcoming moot. This was not an ambush at all like the one that had occurred on the border near Helgen. This slaughtered and distracted Stormcloaks and specifically targeted the dragonborn herself, knowing what a threat she would be. This distanced her from Ulfric and effectively separated them, with dedicated groups of soldiers attacking each individually. There was no intent here to take either of them alive or cart them off for an execution. These men and women were highly skilled and had come with a purpose.

Guilt stung her as she tried to stand and was struck down again and again, watching with horror as they beat him down to the ground and a sword pierced his chest. It was her fault that he was in this position; he’d seen the attack an instant before it happened and stupidly tried to shield her from it. Had he only been more concerned for his own safety, he may have lived. He wasn’t dead yet, or if he was she couldn’t tell. But the situation was dire. She tried to shout at them and send them flying away from him, but her Voice failed her. Too little time had passed since her last shout and the ones she tried now weakly presented themselves as a harsh whisper. _Almost._ She could almost use her Voice. The seconds were passing like years, and the blows falling on her back sent her to her stomach again.

Something swelled within her and she understood that she was ready. Foolishly, two of the three assailants who had originally taken her down had stepped back and allowed the third to take over her butchering. She turned on him and spit blood in his face, taking his moment of disgusted surprise to run him through. Before his two companions could act she turned and screamed the words of power to move her to Ulfric, launching herself bodily at the forms wailing on him and bowling them over. She killed two before they could rise and the third and fourth as they turned to face her, having badly hurt the fifth when he caught her fall. The two from earlier were upon her now, but she dropped her weapon at Ulfric’s side and cast bolts of lightning that destroyed her enemies before they could touch her. Exhausted but driven, she fell to the ground at her jarl’s side and took his torso and head against her own, desperately searching for some sign of life.

His life’s blood beat faintly beneath her fingers when she pressed them to his neck, and she choked out a relieved sob. It was not a lasting feeling, however, because she saw how grievously injured he was. She held her hands over his damaged chest and poured herself into healing him, but her magicka was depleted after the destruction of the two men moments before. She screamed in frustration, desperate. Her jarl, her king, the man she had fought and killed and nearly died for, was bleeding out as she held him, slipping away into death as though Sovngarde had grown limbs and taken hold of him. Casting her gaze about desperately and seeing that no aid was coming, her eyes fell on the ebony sword of leeching at their sides. This was the very weapon Ulfric had gifted her after they took Solitude, his own sword that he had seen fit to make hers. The enchantment within the ebony was still strong, and she took hold of it instantly, wildly afraid and willing to try anything to save his life.

She all but tore the bracers from her wrists, furious with herself for not thinking to do this sooner. With no hesitation she pressed the hilt into Ulfric’s limp hand and guided it, drawing the blade across her forearms again, and again, and again. Red essence, her own life and health, flowed clearly from her to Ulfric, and she continued. She sliced deeply into her own flesh, prepared to die if it meant that he lived. Blood flowed from the cuts she made like small rivers, but it flowed fast. Her vision blurred and spots overtook her vision, and she felt remarkably warm and uncomfortable. Ulfric’s shoulder was against her stomach, the back of his head cradled against her chest. She saw approaching figures and prayed to every divine there was and had ever been that they were Stormcloaks, and slumped over her jarl, unconscious.

She woke with a start, taking an extra several moments to identify her surroundings as she’d never seen them from this angle. She had been in Ulfric’s personal chambers before, though only once, but the view was very different from his massive fur-clad bed. She made to sit up and cringed, recalling her last actions before fainting and inspecting her forearms. They were completely healed and looked to have never been torn, but the telltale sensation of magical healing prickled beneath her skin in the places she had cut into the soft flesh.

She did not have to wonder how she’d come to be in the jarl’s quarters, but her presence in his space led her to wonder if he had survived. As if the world itself didn’t want for her to wait on an answer, the door opened and Ulfric himself strode in. His expression was dour and drawn, clearly troubled, but it changed entirely when he saw that she was awake.

“My jarl,” she said, nodding once and lowering her eyes. “I’m glad to see you in good health.”

He approached the bed and stood beside it, frown returning. “How often must I tell you? _Ulfric_ is fine. And there’s no need for pleasantries and formalities. I owe you my life. You can act like it.”

She lowered her eyes again, out of habit. “Ulfric,” she corrected herself, meeting his eyes. “I am glad to see you alive. When last I saw you . . .” she stopped, so much blood and so many tears returning to her mind’s eye. Her throat constricted with the memory of her own torn, choking breath and screams for help, screams to daedra and aedra alike. She refocused on the man standing over her, grounding herself to cut the memories off.

“I’m told you shouted your way to me and laid waste to our attackers before sacrificing your life’s blood for my own. When I woke they were treating both of us and you still had the gashes to prove the words of those who found us.” He touched her wrist gently with his thumb, and she was reminded of the same finger on her cheek when she came to him blind quite some time before. “Thank you for saving my life.” He returned his hand to his side, though his touch had lingered. “Though I don’t approve of your methods. I can’t thank you for thinking of my wellbeing above your own.”

She laughed shortly. “If you’d thought of yourself before me then we may have had more of an advantage before they took us.”

He lifted his chin slightly but didn’t argue, and she thought she saw the barest hint of a smile curve at the corners of his lips.

Not entirely uncomfortable beneath the steady, heavy gaze he rested upon her, she shifted and looked around. “It was my duty to sacrifice myself for you, formalities or no. That is all there was to it.” It was bizarre, seeing the jarl’s private space from his _bed_. “Were there no slabs in the nearby temples or cots in the barracks?” she asked, glancing around again that he might understand the source of her question.

“You are second only to Galmar, and then only beneath him because of seniority.” He frowned. “The man is loyal to his bones, but I doubt even he would leap at a chance to rend his own flesh for my sake.” He turned and looked over the room, and she took the opportunity to study his face, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. “The best healers in Skyrim were here to tend your wounds, and the best quarters I could provide were yours for the taking,” he smiled, “Whether you wanted them or not.”

“How long have I been unconscious?” This was a blatant display of favoritism, even for his most valued warrior whose strategic voice was second only to Galmar. Ulfric was not often so open when he favored her.

“Nearly two days.” He glanced at the door. “I’ll have them bring food and drink, and a bath.” He strode away before she could argue, gone seconds later.

He returned with her sword and was closely followed by a steward bearing a meal tray. He waited until the steward left to present the sword. “I had it sharpened and repaired,” he said simply.

She stared at the gleaming blade and wondered how much effort it had taken to polish her blood from the cold black metal. “Thank you,” she said, automatically lowering her eyes once again.

He set the sword aside and looked between her and the food. “I can leave you to eat if you like. They will bring a basin and fill it with hot water for you. The water is over the fire as we speak.”

She smiled small, briefly considering all that had befallen them in the past few days. “Do you think it was the dominion?” she asked abruptly.

His thick brows joined briefly as one and he turned away to look at the lit fireplace across the room. “One might suspect,” he said after a long pause. “But who they were is not nearly as important as who they got their information from.” He looked at her, and his eyes were hard. “Someone fed them our location and our route long before the ambush took place.”

“We knew they would come for you, even after you were crowned high king,” she pointed out, but the thought of a traitor stung her just as it did him.

He nodded gravely, clearly lost in thought.

After some time she reached for her food, having been lost herself. “I’ll be out of your quarters as soon as I’ve bathed,” she promised.

He turned on her quickly, surprising her. “Take your time,” he said after a moment that almost, almost sounded like him stumbling over what he was trying to say.

She looked away. “Thank you for seeing to it that I was so well taken care of.”

He grunted. “You’ve done plenty for me. Only the best for my dragonborn.”

 _Yours_ , she thought silently to herself, eyes meeting his again and holding there. _Long after the fighting is done and perhaps after this life itself._

He couldn’t read her mind, of course, but something in his eyes shifted and she felt the slightest hint of fear that he knew. Knew what she thought or at least what she felt. He leaned just the slightest bit closer, so slightly that she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been focusing all of her attention on him and his proximity to her. “I would have you-” he started.

The door opened and the steward was back, this time with several assistants helping him carry in a large basin for her bath. Several more came in with pots of boiled water.

Both of them turned to see the procession enter and then they looked back at one another.

“Enjoy your bath,” Ulfric said, nodding to her. There was something unspoken and unfinished between them, she felt it. It burned at the back of her throat in a small, curious lump after he left the room. She hoped it would subside when they got the chance to speak later, but their chance never came and the sensation of missing something never left.

It was their last private conversation after the battle to take Solitude, and the last time he wasn’t too busy to take the time and speak to her for more than a few moments.

_~ ~ ~_

She had half a mind to leave, grimacing at half of what was being said, but then he said her name for the first time and she found that her feet would not carry her away even if she’d asked them to. She listened to his words and the sound of his slow and halting approach without turning to face him. He spoke his last word and fell silent, now standing directly behind her. “I sent the last of these over a month ago,” he said quietly, and she heard the soft sound as the paper left his hand and flitted through the air before scratching against the grass at their feet. “The moot meets today, but my heart was not in it, and even Galmar was loathe for them to see me in my current state.” His hand rested softly on her shoulder then and he pulled gently so that she would turn to face him.

Her mind whirled as she turned, but she didn’t pull away.

“Ask me whatever you will, and I shall answer honestly,” he said firmly, meeting her eyes.

She considered what she might ask first, and began to plan her first question before a different, unplanned question sprang from her lips. “You have fed me with your own hands when I feared feeding myself, taken pains to restore my sight when it was lost to me, allowed me to join you when you first met me as a criminal, and gave me your own bed to recover in when death nearly took me.” She looked down at their feet and the parchment there, and then back to his face. “Why?”

He stared at her, and the sensation of not knowing how to answer was impressed upon her. “You are my dragonborn,” he said at last, quietly.

But it wasn’t a satisfactory answer.

“Of course,” she said impatiently. “But _why_?”

That slight smile tugged at his mouth and she found herself staring at it, fixated.

“I love you,” he repeated the words that had rang firmly in the last two of his letters. “I _have_ loved you.”

She breathed in quickly but quietly, smiling herself before another question occurred to her and spoiled the moment. Now she brought her eyes up to meet his own. “If you are an acting asset for the Thalmor, why would they want to kill you?” Her tone was not biting, her words not accusatory. She had seen the dossier. There was no anger left in her, only curiosity and pain.

“I have never knowingly acted on their orders,” he said immediately, smile gone. “They have manipulated me in the past, yes, but never controlled me. That know that, and it’s why they wish me dead now that we’ve further weakened the Empire by winning the beginning of this war.”

For the first time it was she who reached up and gently put her hand to the side of his face, thumb brushing absently on his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch as if he were a dying man and it was all that would sustain him. She took the moment of reprieve from his piercing gaze to study his face, cringing inwardly at the gaunt sharpness of his cheekbones and the hollows around his eyes. He had lost weight and sleep since last she’d laid eyes on him. Much of both, it seemed.

He took her by surprise when he spoke before she actually responded to what he’d said. “I know you favor your freedom,” he said slowly, and his eyes opened, brighter now than before. Perhaps even wet with the fewest of tears, she couldn’t be sure. “I know that the idea of sitting in a keep and reigning is unappealing when compared to clearing caves of their monsters and aiding the townsfolk to make them love you.”

Now her breath caught in her throat the same way it had when he first said that he loved her. This was more than that coming from his lips, though. This almost sounded like . . .

“But being queen does not have to mean those things, gowns and dinners and pleasantries, unless you would like it to. You would be free to tell the falmer you killed that their queen was their downfall, and the love you’ve garnered from the people would be well placed and hard-earned in a leader they know they can respect and trust.”

A proposal.

She blinked, stunned. “I’ve not spoken to you in months, and you would _marry_ me?”

He chuckled. “None is as well suited to be my equal.” The small smile on his face widened considerably, a rare sight that she appreciated thoroughly. “And none is so willing to speak up against me and put me in my place.”

She smiled back, but she was afraid. “I’ll not wear Radiant Raiment’s garments and each cheese and sip wine all day,” she said immediately, not realizing that what she said sounded like a conditional acceptance.

He laughed, a bizarre and relatively unfamiliar sound to her ears, but a pleasant one nonetheless, and took her by her shoulders to pull her against his chest. “You’ve no obligation to be queen at all,” he whispered against her cheek, bowing his head to be closer to her. “I would have you back as the dragonborn only, Stormblade herself, an advisor, a soldier, whatever you wish, just to have you back at all.”

She found herself pressing closer into him, though only a number of minutes before she’d been so desperate to escape his presence. “They must decide at the moot to crown you before you continue this talk of queens,” she murmured, feeling the pleasant hum of his breath against the side of her face. Her thumb found the angle of his cheekbone and she frowned, pulling away. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to eat a hearty meal and stay for a few days. You look terrible if I’m being completely honest, my jarl.”


End file.
